


smarter than he looks

by downrighteffervescent



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, drunken excuses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downrighteffervescent/pseuds/downrighteffervescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a friend who asked "why Jun likes Aiba." My response? Because he's smarter than he looks. </p><p>I wanted to do more with this--as it stands it almost seems angsty? (which is a joke coming from me)</p><p>**edit: why did I forget to italicize some words the first time? argh, fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	smarter than he looks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floweranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweranza/gifts).



Aiba always knew more than he let on. At least, Jun couldn’t help but think so. Across the table, Aiba was quiet, contemplative. Calculating, maybe? Nothing like the cackling, wheezing whirlwind of good-natured idiocy he frequently came across as being on television. Of course, Aiba often _was_ a cackling, wheezing whirlwind of good-natured idiocy, but he was a lot more than that, too. Jun really liked the Aiba that didn’t misread kanji on purpose or injure himself with eating utensils. But he respected his skill at maintaining his “character,” when he himself so frequently couldn’t reconcile all the facets of his identity with everyone else’s expectations of who Matsumoto Jun was _supposed_ to be. His train of thought was interrupted when their waitress returned, setting down another round of beers. Aiba’s smile could have lit up the room and when he thanked the girl, she gushed mawkishly, her smile just as big but, to Jun, not nearly as beautiful. It looked like Aiba was pointlessly flirting and Jun rolled his eyes. But he didn’t have to be jealous, because as soon as he saw Aiba biting his thumb in thought, overhearing the makeup artist fussing at Jun about his under-eye circles and gaunt appearance earlier that day, he already knew what Aiba meant with the invitation to grab a beer. Sometimes, Jun knew more than he let on, too.  
Maybe before this glass was even empty, Aiba would find a way to insinuate himself in Jun’s space. He wouldn’t fall all over Jun and ask him for help getting home, and he was at least two more drinks away from wailing, teary-eyed, about how much he loved Arashi.  
It had always been that way, even when they were teenagers, Jun thought. Sometimes, there’d be porn on the television in a shared hotel room. Other times, there wasn’t even that for justification, just a passing remark that he looked “stressed out” and Aiba would reach for him, long fingers and a shy smile. Except for that first time, when Jun hadn’t known how to react, he returned the gesture, a shaking hand silently sliding into Aiba’s perpetually low-slung pajamas. They might as well have declared “no homo,” this pretense of “helping a friend out.” It was as transparent and contrived as “kissing practice,” but Aiba never said anything, never offered more than a spit-slicked palm, and maybe an awkward embrace when it was all said and done, and Jun never called him out on it. Everything was in balance; the illusion was maintained. Because Aiba knew what Jun was comfortable with, he always knew.  
Hadn’t Arashi made their reputation as a group that got along so well precisely because they all knew when to withdraw, when not to push an issue, to push each other?  
In those awkward, early years, not pushing was far more difficult for Jun, who wanted to speak up, to question, to ask someone, _anyone_ , whose brilliant idea it was for him to be so-called “comedy leader” in the first goddamn place. There was nothing funny about him, save his gangly limbs, unfortunate teeth, and explosive acne. Which, to him, wasn’t funny at all. He was often a sullen ball of anger and impotent frustration and he always, _always_ had to smile. Smile because there was always a camera somewhere. Smile because he had wanted all of this so badly. And Aiba had been there, without judging, without questioning, on the days when Jun just couldn’t take it anymore.  
Over time, it had gotten better—better for him, better for everyone. But there were still those days; days when the only sleep he got was in the van on the way to a shooting location, days where the jokes and anecdotes about talking to himself and to his houseplants were more hurtful than funny, days where he just couldn’t seem to do anything right and he couldn’t keep the sharp, tetchy edge out of his voice. Sometimes, when he’d pull his pants back up and push his disheveled hair back with a clean hand; he’d think that Aiba was more thoughtful and mature than anyone was likely to ever give him credit for.

At other times, he would think that Aiba must be just as much of a coward as he was.


End file.
